


Bare My Old, Diseased Soul

by Pastelglitchesxx



Series: Flip Envy Into Ecstasy (Arrowverse Polycule AU) [16]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batwoman (TV 2019), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aromantic Cisco Ramon, Asexual Caitlin Snow, Bisexual Cisco Ramon, Bisexual Eddie Thawne, Bisexual Felicity Smoak, Bisexual Iris West, Bisexual Lena Luthor, Bisexual Patty Spivot, Bisexual Ronnie Raymond, Caitlin Snow Is Not Okay, Caitlin Snow Needs a Hug, Cupioromantic Cisco Ramon, Demiromantic Iris West, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Leslie Willis, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Caitlin Snow (mostly), Pansexual Kara Danvers, Polyamorous Caitlin Snow, Polyamorous Felicity Smoak, Polyamorous Iris West, Polyamorous Killer Frost, Polyamory, Transgender Eddie Thawne, Transgender Felicity Smoak, Transgender Iris West, Transgender Patty Spivot, biromantic Caitlin Snow, lesbian Killer Frost, polycule, transgender cisco ramon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelglitchesxx/pseuds/Pastelglitchesxx
Summary: She never believed it was weird. Weird wasn’t a word in her vocabulary, though; everything could be explained, all you had to do was compare the impossible to the improbable and there you’d find an answer. Each problem could find its place, if allowed. Caitlin liked to think all the various shapes that were scattered on her already-freckled skin were interesting. There was an answer to be found in it, over and over and over again. She was never one to turn down a challenge. Why would she when they began appearing?Or, the one where Caitlin has a lot of soulmates. And has a lot of issues, basically.
Relationships: Caitlin Snow & Carla Tannhauser, Caitlin Snow & Original Alters, Caitlin Snow & Thomas Snow, Caitlin Snow/Eddie Thawne, Caitlin Snow/Iris West, Caitlin Snow/Patty Spivot, Cisco Ramon/Caitlin Snow, Felicity Smoak/Caitlin Snow, Kara Danvers/Caitlin Snow, Kate Kane/Caitlin Snow, Killer Frost/Caitlin Snow, Lena Luthor/Caitlin Snow, Ronnie Raymond/Caitlin Snow
Series: Flip Envy Into Ecstasy (Arrowverse Polycule AU) [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020049
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Bare My Old, Diseased Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is sort of an AU to my Polyam AU. It's basically, what if I take all my ships and pour them into a soulmate universe? And that's what you get here. This writing style is kinda an experiment on my part, I'm playing with how to the point but still mysterious I am with phrasing. Title is of my own making, not from a song or something sorry. Trigger warnings for intrusive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, self esteem issues, self harm, anger issues, blood, (mentions of) murder, child abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic violence, neglectful parents, swearing, sexual references, non-explicit and implied sex scenes, deceased family members, toxic relationships, transphobia, polyamphobia, queerphobia, dysphoria... I've probably forgotten a few. Please don't read if you're faint-hearted.

She never believed it was weird. 

Sure, it was quite uncommon, according to biased research studies about those who could afford to be out. _Weird_ wasn’t a word in her vocabulary, though; everything could be explained, all you had to do was compare the impossible to the improbable and there you’d find an answer. Each problem could find its place, if allowed. Others called it disgusting, rare, plain weird, and she was labeled a whore and someone destined to cheat. On the contrary, Caitlin liked to think all the various shapes that were scattered on her already-freckled skin were interesting. Intriguing, even. There was an answer to be found in it, over and over and over again. She was never one to turn down a challenge. Why would she when they began appearing?

**I**

Her parents had thought they knew what her soulmate bond was. From the moment she was born, Caitlin couldn’t identify blues. Unlike normal color-blindness, the SM-type Colorblind made shades of blue into grayscale. 

Her parents took her to the local soulmate expert when she was one and he had performed a test. He presented her with a sheet of paper, crayons, and cluttered the playroom with colorful objects she might get inspired to draw. When she did, he compared the drawings and items, and quickly realized that the blues and grays switched in the art. Because of her inability to tell the difference, all the gray parts were blue, too. She would be able to grasp the _‘true beauty’_ of the ocean and sky when she first met her soulmate.

It started a year later.

Black blemishes plagued her palms. They were messy, blurry at the lines, with interconnected blobs, like dried paint droplets. Dark, but small freckles. Her father noticed it nonetheless.

They brought her to the soulmark expert that had diagnosed her previously. “Well, this is the beginning of a type of passion-oriented soulmark. Once one’s soulmate is born, these marks appear somewhere on the body, matching in only its placement, and develop into shapes over time as their soulmate expands their interests,” Dr. Wells explained. “So far, we’ve found evidence that the symbols for this type can go up to three. Don’t worry, though, all of them will be grouped where they first appear; in this case, on her palms.”

“No, no,” Carla argued, “it must be medical. We already know her soulbond, she’s SM-type Colorblind.”

“Maybe, and I don’t say this lightly, I was... wrong. Her color-blindness could be a misdiagnosis. Rare, but not impossible, given her young age. She’s yet to learn the name of colors, right?”

Thomas nodded. “I mean, she is only two—”

“Yes, I know, most children can only name a single color at the age of three. I work with children, Dr. Snow.” Frowning at the little girl, Wells turned to the papers on his desk. “... Maybe she’s simply colorblind, with or without a soulmate, but you said she still confused blue for gray and vice versa, yes? With her crayons? And with the experiment I performed, we know she only can’t see shades of blue. If she was just colorblind, it wouldn’t be all gray, no matter the type. We’ve already run a medical examination on her, and neither the colorblindness or the blemishes were noticed by any machine; completely normal behavior for soulmarks, soulmail or soulmodes. Interesting…”

He blinked at the papers. His eyebrows knit in realization. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a soft, _“huh,”_ which earned a scoff from Carla.

“What?” She demanded.

Thomas took his wife’s hand. “I-Is Caitlin okay?”

“Well,” Wells said, “it would seem your daughter has multiple soulmates.”

Carla’s eyes widened, but her impatient expression barely shifted. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility.”

“It’s uncommon, but it has happened. Four to five percent of the United States population have more than one soulmark, indicating multiple soulmates. At least 20 percent have tried ethical non-monogamy.”

“Ethical non . . .” Thomas shook his head. “W-What are you talking about? Our daughter’s gonna be a... a—”

“It’s likely,” Harrison interrupted, “that Caitlin will be polyamorous, when she’s older and is ready for such a relationship.” He handed Thomas a sheet of paper. “And even then, she could choose to settle down with one soulmate. It’ll be her decision entirely.”

Carla snatched the paper from her husband’s hands. “God, our daughter’s going to be a whore!”

Dr. Wells scowled. “As I said, this isn’t rare. _‘Uncommon’_ is the word I would use, Dr. Tannhauser.”

Caitlin liked the way his stare made her mother look away.

When they got back home, her parents argued. Loudly. The next night, Caitlin fell asleep in her dad’s lap, listening to the taps of his fingers on his laptop, as words and a black, red and gray flag scrolled by. From then on, Caitlin saw Dr. Wells on a regular basis. Carla was on a mission to _“crack the code,”_ as Thomas put it. She needed to know when and how Caitlin would fall into her other halves, and just how many there were.

Cait would watch her palms whenever they went to Dr. Harrison’s lab. The pictures changed so quickly, like a butterfly’s flitting wings. As they both grew up, she watched her soulmate fall in love with science. Then it was mechanics, then superheroes, then Pokémon, then other anime. The images changed almost daily. She wondered if it was strange her own interests hadn’t changed much in years since it showed up. Was that because she was advanced beyond her age, or because she was immature? Caitlin often thought about what the three symbols on his body must be; her favorite dictionary, something on the table of elements, funnel cake? It piqued her curiosity. How could she know nothing about this person but she knew what he loved with all his heart?

Thomas, on the other hand, took the diagnosis in strides. When Carla was away, he told Caitlin all about the many people who would love and adore her. He even bought her one of those special pens when she turned seven, where people with the skin-writing soulmark could make contact. It was shimmery and pink, and felt like pretty eyelashes as they made out a message on her arm. Caitlin pretended not to notice how his hands shook and froze at random.

She knew that the kid who answered back wouldn’t be the same one that loved Bulbasaur and computers, but at least she would finally have a friend; someone just within a pen’s reach, right under her skin. She wouldn’t be alone anymore, ever.

_Hello! My name is Caitlin and I’m seven years old. I like the color pink and books. I have a lot of pink books. What’s your name?_

They waited, and waited, but a reply never came.

Thomas pulled her into a hug. “Don’t cry, honey, it’s okay.”

“You said he’d love me!” 

“Maybe this just isn’t one of your soulmarks! Come on, be a big girl, hun—”

Carla’s hiss made Caitlin flinch. “Look at what you’ve done!” Her mother picked Caitlin up and cradled her crying daughter’s face in the slope of her neck. She rubbed the young child’s back and shushed her quietly, all while shooting a dangerous eye at her husband.

“We’ll ignore it.”

Caitlin had been put to sleep a few minutes ago, but crept out of her bed to put her ear to the wall of her parents’ room.

“What?” Thomas said. “We can’t just ignore—”

“Look at how she reacted, Thomas!” Carla growled lowly. “You’re confusing her with all your _love_ talk! Dr. Wells said we should leave the option open, not act like her choosing that lifestyle is a done-deal!”

“What about you?!” He fired back. “You’re always taking her to the doctor’s! How many times has she been stripped and checked for new marks, huh? Every time you’re in the same room with her, you act like she’s committed some crime, and you’re the fucking interrogator! You think that’s not confusing her?”

“I’m trying to fucking _help_ her!” 

“So am I!” 

They went quiet.

“... Look, we can make sure she’s educated on the options she has,” Carla started, “but you’ve _got_ to stop pushing her! You can’t influence this choice, it might be the biggest decision in her entire life, Tom. Other than college and career, of course.” 

“I’ll only agree to that if you stop taking her to Wells’ all the time.”

“Thomas—”

“No, Carla! She’s practically been raised in that office for _five years._ You have to trust her enough to let her come to us if she finds a new one.”

“You think it’s an _if_ and not a _when?”_

“I-I don’t know, that’s the whole point! Honey, we found our soulmate. It’s a rite of passage. We have to let her do the same. Do you want her to be alone?”

“I want her to be _happy,_ Tom, happy and successful! Love doesn’t have to have anything to do with that. She’ll have more than one person influencing her life choices, don’t you want to be prepared for that?”

“It’s our job to _teach_ _her_ how to be prepared for that.”

Carla sighed. “... Fine. I’ll—I’ll stop, but only if you do!”

“I will.” Her father’s voice got gentler. “I promise.”

“... I love you, Tom.”

A honeyed laugh. “I love you, too, Carla.”

**II**

A year later, Caitlin is drawing a bright golden sun and a gray sky, when her father called her name.

“Caitlin?” He yelled, kindly. Caitlin thought back to how frozen his hands had seemed at breakfast. He had tried to hide them from her, but it was hard to eat without hands, so he made do with ones that stuck in place. Mom had had to help him. She frowned in worry.

“Honey, can you come down to the basement? I need your help with something.”

Caitlin jumped on her feet and started trampling toward her father’s voice. “What is it?”

“It’s an experiment.”

Caitlin hopped down the steps to the basement door and grinned up at him. “What experiment?”

He smiled. She didn’t realize how tight it was until years later. “I’m gonna, uh... freeze us in time, honey.”

“You’re funny!” Caitlin laughed, but her giggles turned into clapping. “Let’s do it, let’s do it! We’re gonna be so frickin’ cool! I wanna be a snow princess!”

“That’s nice,” he chuckled. “How about we name you... _Khione,_ huh, snow princess?”

After she came upstairs, she sat in the living room again. She stared at the TV with her legs pulled up to her chest, slightly rocking back and forth. Band-aids from shots lined her arms, but it was a secret, so she had to cover up. It was the first of many times that Thomas would tell her to cover herself until barely an inch of the body under her neck could be seen. 

A month into it is when she first heard it. It felt like ice covering her skin, but she didn’t mind. She saw the ghost of white air leaving her lips, even though she didn’t feel cold. She closed her eyes, suddenly light-headed, as it whispered to her.

 _It’s almost dark,_ the other little girl whimpered, _hide or he’ll do it again!_

Caitlin rubbed her eyes and when she drew her hands back, her mouth hung open. She never knew the living room was blue before then.

“Caitlin, honey?” Thomas yelled. “It’s time to help Daddy with his project!”

 _Don’t,_ the voice inside her head breathed desperately. _Cait, don’t!_

Caitlin stood up. She walked slowly down to her father’s level. The other little girl didn’t raise her tone, as if scared to be heard, but her whispers were almost screams inside their head. Why was this kid so scared of Daddy? He would never do anything to hurt her. All she was doing was handing him things, after all. That’s all she could _remember_ doing, at least.

The girl cried out madly. _Don’t, fucking_ don’t!

Caitlin paused on the steps. She listened as the other girl’s panicked gasps calmed for a second. _My mom says you shouldn’t swear,_ Caitlin thought back, and took her father’s hand. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Khione?” He chuckled.

“Isn’t blue so pretty?” She grinned, but her father’s expression flagged. “You told me it was pretty, but you didn’t say it sounded pretty, too!” She paused for a second, staring into nothingness. “And, I-I think that’s _her_ name, not mine.”

Slowly, Thomas pulled his face into a thin smile. His stare was tense, and Caitlin felt the grip of his hand tighten. “... What’d you mean, Caitlin?”

The little girl blushed. “I think Khione is the blue girl’s name.”

She doesn’t remember what happened when his face fell. She never remembered what went on inside the basement that was her father’s makeshift home-lab. She only had vague memories about walking down the steps feeling not-all-there, and tiredly hugging her layered legs afterwards.

When her mother noticed the change in Caitlin’s art, Caitlin told her she must be mistaken, because she could never recall a world without blue.

**III**

She saw red.

When Caitlin reached puberty at 12, she saw a different type of red. This one was like bright, glowing yarn.

She had woken up with a circular cut around her ring finger. As she examined it, the cut got brighter, and suddenly looked as if it was jumping off her skin. It spinned around her fingernail until it fell back into place, where it lay tied in bunny ears. Caitlin blinked, realizing that all she felt was the ghost of touch.

She watched the string grow and fly off into the distance, tugging towards the horizon outside her bedroom window.

Caitlin creeped towards her mother’s room. “Mom?” 

She heard shuffling behind the closed door. “What is it?”

The young girl sniffled. “There’s a new soulbond.” 

She waited, even after the house was filled with stark silence. At times like this, Caitlin wished there were still projects to be had in the lab. Her heart ached at the thought of her dead father. He was always softer, funnier than Mom. He would never do anything to hurt her. 

_Would he?_ Khione asked inside their head, quiet and fearful. 

Tommy’s presence made Caitlin blink a bit. _No, no, he wouldn’t,_ Tommy said, reluctance and anxiety slipping into his older voice. _Please, girls, it’s alright—_

 _Daddy loved us, I promise!_ Alice interrupted. Caitlin knew she must be grinning. _Oh, don’t you just feel like adventuring?_

Daddy didn’t leave on purpose, Caitlin sighed to herself. Thomas didn’t— _You sure about that?_ Lexi laughed cruelly. _Sure, sure, whatever. It doesn’t change that he fucking left us!_

He didn’t leave them on purpose. Little did she know . . .

Caitlin shook her head free of the other voices. She wished she was inside their inner world, a snowy cabin where she and Khione and Alice could play until reality crumbled from under the three young girls. Tommy would play along, like the teenager always did. The mean tween bully Lexi LaRoche might spoil the fun, but _fun_ was Alice’s special talent.

But she couldn’t switch so close to Carla. What if Tommy couldn’t control who came out to work their body? Lexi could put gum in their hair again, or Alice could fall from the tree she napped in, or... Khione would start crying and wet the bed, like she always did.

Caitlin wished Khione didn’t feel so scared all the time.

“It’s, um...” Her eyelids fluttered. “... It’s a soul-mail. The empathetic and/or telepathetic ones, that are… are invisible to other people. Mom, it’s the red string.”

“Well, it’s a work day, Caitlin. You might not have school, but I need to provide for this family. Why don’t you go follow your soulmate elsewhere?” 

_No, no, you can’t do that!_ Khione gasped. _Cait, you can’t go alone!_

“I’m not alone,” Caitlin whispered to her.

 _Seriously, fuck Mom!_ Lexi snickered. _Come on, let’s go! Don’t you wanna find your soulmate, honey?_

She blushed when Lexi called her that. “I-I think I’ll just read,” said Caitlin tiredly.

The last thing she remembered hearing her mom say, _“Do whatever you want,”_ before Alice slipped under her skin. Caitlin woke up on the street a few hours later, watching as the red string inched her closer to the soulmate a few feet in front of her.

It was a young boy, maybe a year younger than her. A black boy with dark hair in frizzy buns. He was skipping alongside a white girl his age, who kept pushing her brown hair off her shoulders. Neither noticed Caitlin stopping in her tracks in front of them.

“I don’t like my name,” the boy said to his friend.

The little girl pouted. “I don’t like mine, neither.”

“I have an idea,” the boy said, “why don’t we trade names?”

The little girl let out a snort of laughter. “Is that allowed?”

The other kid smiled in a way that puffed out their cheeks. Caitlin thought their dimples were pretty. “Why not?”

The brunette one smiled. “Okay. I’ll be Barry, you be Iris.”

The new Barry cheered. “... Can we trade something else?”

“Like what?” asked the new Iris.

“Can I be a girl, too?”

“Only if I can be a boy!” 

The new girl held out her hand. “Deal.” The new boy shook it.

Iris sighed dreamily. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate, Barry.”

Barry flashed red. “Me, too, Iris.”

 _Iris,_ Caitlin thought. _My soulmate is a girl named Iris._ She turned away. When she got back home, she found a notebook, and scribbled it inside. 

_2\. Red string soul-mail - Iris; black, F, 11(?)_

_3\. Triple persona symbol soulmark - N/A_

She put her name at the top in tailed cursive before falling asleep. When her eyes opened at her mother’s call, she saw another name under it, in messy blue.

_1\. Colorblind soul-mode - Khione; white, F, 12_

From then on, Caitlin hid the journal under her pillow every night. Whenever someone else was out, they would write down what they did. Khione frosted a flower again and ended up killing it, so Alice took over and played in the trees. Tommy ate and showered. Lexi did their makeup for the day. Years later, that notebook would be the only trace left of Alice, Tommy, and Lexi, before they integrated away. Before Caitlin pushed Lexi and Khione and Alice down so far until they mixed. 

**IV**

She’s thirteen the next time she flips back to her soulmate list. A word had appeared on her wrist. She guessed it was a first- _ever_ word soulmark, given the weirdness of her soulmate’s first words to her specifically being _“dada.”_ It may have also been because children were more likely to speak single words, while meeting someone typically involved a _“hello, nice to meet you, my name is x.”_ Caitlin pitied the poor kid that had _“mitochondria”_ on their wrist. 

She had an entire sentence written on her chest that day, too. It only proved her point.

_4\. First-ever word(?) soulmark (“Dada”) - N/A_

_5\. First-meeting word(?) soulmark (“That’s all I wanted, to be your hero”) - N/A_

Caitlin read the list over. She almost called out for Khione and Alice or even Lexi, but her shoulders slumped as she remembered they were different now. The three were one. So she crossed out Khione’s name, and wrote their new one above it.

_Killer Frost._

**V**

Caitlin was staring at herself in the mirror. Her mother had only just given her the talk, as if Caitlin didn’t understand anything. She was _fifteen,_ for christ’s sake! She stared and wondered _why_ it all sounded so boring. The concept of sex was something her peers were obsessed with. It was apparently rare that she didn’t think about it. 

She liked to call it _‘uncommon’_ instead.

She looked down at the symbols on her palm, watching the Bulbasaur change back and forth from an Anarchy symbol. Her more passionate soulmate was going through a punk phase. 

Her father’s words rung in her ear. One day, so many people would love her. She rubbed the _“dada”_ with her thumb, gently but calmingly. She watched as the red string fell up and down with her movements. She wanted, _needed_ to feel okay—she hadn’t allowed herself to wonder in so long. She pulled her shirt up and quickly pressed her hand on the word, _“hero.”_ One day, somebody—man, woman, neither, both, it didn’t matter to her—would be her hero. 

Then she noticed her ribs.

She walked back into her room and searched for her old journal. She found it under her bed. A little voice in her head told her not to flip the page, not to look inside the mind of her ~~younger selves~~ younger self. It didn’t scare Caitlin, the lapse of memory, the lost data that was her childhood. Her mind overflowed with important dates, math problems, medical terms—she didn’t have time for a walk down memory lane, anyways. She was fifteen, and yet on her second to last year of high school, then it would be college, then a four-year medical residency… by 24, she had to be a household name. She was making something of herself now. No time for nostalgia or soulmates.

She had to work with her mother, whether that was the future Caitlin wanted or not. Maybe, if she achieved enough, she could make something else of her life.

No, that wasn’t an option for her.

Under the list, she traced the letters she found going down on her right rib. They were greek-like in nature, but not quite there. It looked almost like an intricate mix between that, Sanskrit and Latin. It was definitely a name, given the lack of quotations. She went to the list, and her gaze automatically dismissed the third line that had a crossed out blob.

 _6._ _Full(?) name soulmark - N/A_

That night, a thought kept her awake. That language wasn’t in any textbook, she couldn’t even find a trace of it online. But what did come up was Superman, the Earth’s alien champion, answering a few questions about his homeland. He said in the interview that their way of writing looked almost similar to Greek letters. 

Superman couldn’t be her soulmate. He was twice her age! Being the last son of Krypton, there was no other alien that could open her eyes. He was the only one left, right?

She let the idea eat itself until there was nothing left.

**VI**

“And, okay, it’s time for the Valedictorian to make her speech! Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Caitlin Snow!” 

Her older peers muttered insults and bit out their jealousy. She was sixteen, and at senior graduation. It wasn’t her fault she skipped a few years. Maybe it was a little bit, but what drove her was her need to get out of her mother’s house, the need to be known, the same need to be as invisible as possible. It waved in her gut as she walked on stage. Her speech was curt and impersonal, similar to the way she carried herself. She sat back down and listened numbly to the roll of names that followed her principal’s dead praise. She didn’t have to look to know that Carla wasn’t in the crowd. Even if she had been, Caitlin wouldn’t have told her about the sinking feeling in her stomach or the way her brain felt like it was under a layer of slime. She couldn’t hear her own thoughts, as if her mind was just blank. 

On the off chance Carla would have come to her daughter’s graduation, Caitlin would have still hid the dab of brunette making itself known on her right wrist. 

Her thoughts repeated, _7\. Hair-color soulmark - N/A_ until she could write it down. 

Carla wasn’t home, Caitlin knew that, but it wasn’t like they talked when she was. Caitlin went straight for her room and felt her hands grip the journal’s cover before she slipped away. 

The darkness curled as it released her. She was at the front again, her fingers numb but painless as always. She looked at her hands and saw them changing. There was someone else inside her, whispering and echoing and breathing and crying and laughing and… They were gone. And Caitlin’s soulmarks were perfectly perfect, as always. 

The notebook was ruined by wet paper and frosted sides. 

She decided that she must have fallen asleep. That didn’t explain the journal, though. She probably had a glass of water and had forgotten about it. It had spilled. The explanation was simple. 

So why was there a blue crop top where her pink sweater just was?

Caitlin threw it off. She shook her head and realized that there were still blonde stripes at the ends of her ginger hair. She stared at them, almost willing it out of existence. She could feel her world going blurry, watching everything around her in slow-motion. At the shrug of her shoulders, some of the drowsiness fell off. 

Caitlin bit her lip. Carla wasn’t here, her journal was destroyed, she could barely stand up; what was she supposed to do? Her gaze caught on the rest of her body. The various soulmarks stretched on freckled skin, were her very own cattle brands. Her having multiple soulmates had isolated her, but she had long-since outcast herself from friends, family, anyone that could love her, even adore her. The concept was too foreign nowadays.

Her legs were wobbly. She gripped her bed for support and ended up kicking the journal under her bed. The hit of it against the wooden stand forced out another thing lost beneath it. 

Out slipped a pretty pink pen.

Caitlin uncapped it and sat on her bed. She didn’t think about what she was doing. She was good at that. The pen still felt so lush on her arm.

_Hello, I’m Caitlin. I’m sixteen and I’ll be in college this fall. Who are you?_

The only sound in the house was her near-silent breathing. She waited and waited for someone to reply. She considered following the red string to Iris again, or vetting the web for somebody obsessed with anime and Marvel and hot girls in black, or finding a wikia on Kryptonian culture. There were so many to choose from, but too many things to do, and she could barely walk, and everything was somehow whispering and screaming and being suffocatingly quiet at the same time. Her eyes felt gross as she tried to see in front of her. Her breathing hitched, letting out a muffled, _“uhn,”_ and her fingers went harsh against her bedsheets.

The pen dug into her wrist.

The feeling of something cutting her smeared flesh was eerily familiar. Her strength returned, but she didn’t stop. At first, it looked something like a cat scratch, but she lined it back and forth until a line of red stood on the spot. She turned her hand a bit, her eyes following the line as it trickled scarcely.

A feeling started to grow in her core. She was on her feet as soon as it told her so and was already reaching for a rag. In a moment’s notice, the red was replaced by wrapped white fabric. Caitlin set to work cleaning the wound before putting a band-aid on it. She threw the towel in her laundry bin. 

The pen shimmered in the corner or her eye. Caitlin washed the red away from the pale hue.

The feeling that had commanded her was curious, so different from the usual blend that made up Caitlin. The affect her unknown headmate had on her was funneling Cait’s exhaustion into restlessness. Killer Frost and Caitlin Snow weren’t a split person, but a compartmentalized memory, working in flow with whoever was at the other side. Like a machine, or two complete halves of a single coin. This was different; Caitlin filed her emotions away and preferred to view a situation through a logical lens, while what had come over her was as if her bloody desire was boxed and boxed and boxed and boxed again and then thrown into the deepest part of her bankrupted psyche.

It wasn’t Killer Frost. It couldn’t be Tommy, because Tommy bled into Caitlin years ago. If this was a new problem, then she would feel the alternate personality _somewhere,_ wouldn’t she? Or at least, she would see them in the place she preferred to think of as just a _dreamscape._ It was only ever her inside the inner world now. This was someone outside the system Caitlin buried.

With a soft touch, the pen scribbled on her skin again. She liked the feel of it outside her much better.

_8\. Empathetic(?) soul-mail - N/A_

There was a click at the front of the house. Tapping filled her ears before the door slammed shut again. Her mother was home, and walking through the house on heels and scrolling through her phone. She was verbally abusing another one of her assistants. Caitlin felt herself take in a quick breath before she fled under the covers.

“Caitlin?” Carla called out of courtesy. She looked into the room and Caitlin felt a shiver run down her exposed back. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Caitlin?” When her daughter didn’t move, she stormed into her own room.

Caitlin sighed to herself. Maybe now that Carla was here, she could finally get some sleep. As her mother started yelling into her phone like usual, her worries ceased, and her eyelids fell. 

If she had answered her, Carla would have told her that there was a new mark out of eyesight right on her back. There, in purposefully unidentifiable handwriting, shined a golden message. 

_You have more than one, too?_

**VII**

“What are you studying?”

Caitlin didn’t take her eyes off the college textbook as Carla sat on the opposing side of the dinner table (not that they ever ate it together). “Molecular biology.”

Carla rolled her eyes. “I still think you should have studied biomedical engineering.”

 _I’m studying both, Mom, I’m going to be a freaking neurosurgeon._ “Noted.”

“Honestly, Caitlin. You’re still coming to work with me once your residency is finished, yes?”

Caitlin stifled a sigh. “Yeah. Tannhauser Industries is…” she already felt her teeth on her lip and she looked back down. “—it’s exactly where I want to be.”

“Good.” A hint of a smile just almost pulled on Carla’s face. “Not a _complete_ waste, then.” 

Caitlin felt the jab like a cut on her wrist. It was culled before she could register how there was no ice forming at the slope of her subconscious. The memory problems were dormant—along with a certain soulmate—for the time being.

Caitlin reached to rub the _“dada”_ mark on her wrist, even with it shadowed under her shirt. Carla’s gaze lingered on the young woman’s hand for longer than usual; Carla barely spared Caitlin a glance most days. Birthdays were different, but only by a slight.

“It’s summer. Why don’t you wear something more suited than a long-sleeve sweater? What about those clothes you bought a few years back? I’ve hardly ever seen you wear them. I think you’ve gone out in the choker _once_ in your entire life. Slutty, sure, but you’ll pass, given the weather.”

Caitlin moved her arms off the table. She had learned that it was better not to question what other people saw _‘her’_ do. “I, uh—I just don’t like showing skin.”

“Why the hell not? If I had half the soulmarks as you, I’d only go out in my bra and panties.”

“Don’t say _‘panties,’_ it sounds gross.”

Carla actually smiled. “You might be more of a prude than I am, honey.”

 _Honey._ Caitlin pulled her knees to her chest. “Mom, I’m trying to study.”

“I know, Caitlin, but it’s your birthday. I wanted to check in, we haven’t sat together in a while. So, got a boyfriend yet?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

Caitlin quirked her head. 

“Oh, come on,” Carla rolled her eyes. “Hell, even _I_ had a femme phase back in the day. College is where you experiment! You _have_ experimented, right?”

Cait went red. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life!”

“I wasn’t talking about sex, Caitlin, I was talking about _dating.”_ She scoffed. “You think I didn’t notice how you never brought anybody over? You only looked up porn once and that was it.”

“How—”

“I have that history tracking thing on all the devices. Anyways, sweetie, it’s fine if you don’t want to have sex, and it’s fine if you do,” Carla shrugged. “It is also fine if you’re not attracted to anybody. You know your options.”

She nearly groaned. “Multiple soulmate bonds don’t automatically equal polyamory which doesn’t automatically equal sexual activity, I know. You and Dad drilled that into my brain since I was two, I don’t think I _could_ forget it.” 

“With your track record, I’m surprised.” Carla nodded. “So?”

“... So,” Caitlin sighed, “you guessed it.” She dog-eared the corner of the page and flipped the textbook closed. “I’m biromantic asexual.”

“See?” Carla laughed. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

 _You barely know me at all._ “Is that all you wanted?”

“No, actually. Eighteenth birthdays are a hotspot for soulmarks. Any new ones?”

Caitlin’s teeth chewed on the insides of her lip. “... No.” 

Carla pointed her chin up. “Well, how can you tell when you’re always under three layers at minimum?” 

“It’s called a mirror,” Caitlin said. 

“And have you looked in one today?”

Caitlin tried to think back. Sometimes, even harmless things got shrouded in mystery for her. “I, um, don’t know.”

Carla shot her a dirty look before she got up and walked over. Caitlin crossed her arms on the table as her mother sat where her book laid a few inches away. Carla lifted Caitlin’s triangle scarf off and examined her neck for anything. Finding only her daughter’s few scattered freckles, she tapped Caitlin’s sleeves. “Roll up.”

Caitlin followed her orders. 

“No new mail?” 

“Not since that soulmate got their scholarship put on hold this year. Incident with a stalker, I guess? They’re okay, but they think they’re not going to get back in for a few years. It’s terrible.”

“What college were they going to?”

“MIT.”

Carla waved her hand in approval. “Good for them. I’m sure they’ll get back in once the legal trouble is cleared. You seriously don’t know their name or gender?”

“All I know is yellow is their color and they’re even more smart than me.”

Carla _hmm-ed_ to herself. “Any change with the passion one?”

“They’re really into mechanics. I think that’s what they want to study in.”

“The brunette one?”

“Hasn’t changed their hair.”

“The one in a weird language?” 

“Still can’t find a trace of it.”

“The one with a truly generic first word?”

“Still don’t know anything about them.”

“The one with a truly dramatic first-meeting word?”

“Same thing.” 

“The one with the empathetic bond?”

“She gets me contact-drunk a lot.”

“Well, let’s hope they’re over 21.” Then Carla looked down at her, eyes narrowed. “She?”

“Oh, y-yeah. The feeling, it’s, um, feminine, I think—”

“Caitlin, what’s this?” 

Caitlin felt Carla’s touch leave her shoulder. Carla showed her her fingertips, stained by specks of ashy gray. Caitlin looked back and forth between her mother and her skin. She quickly peeled the neckhole over until she saw what made it. “Is that… a fire emoji?” Her nose scrunched. “What the . . . ?”

Carla’s gaze hardened. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you to Dr. Wells.”

“Mom—”

Carla jerked her off the chair by the hand. “We’re _going.”_

In the waiting room, Caitlin found her gaze unwavering from her palms. Dr. Wells’s office wasn’t in a hospital like the last time she saw him; apparently, he’d shifted gears when she was eleven. She considered briefly what caused the change. Nowadays, he was trying to make ripples with science and engineering. 

According to Carla, he was failing.

Regardless, the support of Tannhauser Industries was too seductive for him to refuse checking up on Caitlin. She didn’t look up when she heard his voice, but noted the change. When she was a child, his tone was strict but soft, a mix between how you talk to kids and how you refer to adults. It had left room for questions and comments, and it let the parents know he was genuinely concerned for the child. Like some comfort technique. Now, it almost overflowed with warmth that was nearly polite, but culled any chance of discussion. 

Caitlin knew herself well enough to recognize he was putting on the same show she always did. It was too sharp of a change for her to think of the Wells she knew and the Wells that was as the same person. It was like comparing her childhood hero to a bad copy.

She did, however, follow the sound of rubber wheels turning on laboratory floors. Her gaze locked on him.

“Carla?” Dr. Harrison smiled. Carla did a double-take, shortly composing herself and shaking the man’s hand. Caitlin stood up from her seat and smoothed her clothes before offering the same.

“Caitlin!” He laughed, looking her up and down. “I’m not sure, but I think you _may_ have gotten taller since we last met.”

She forced a civil smile. “I’d say it’s certainly a possibility.”

The three shared brief chuckles. 

Wells nodded. “Well, let’s get to it, shall we? Follow me.” He rotated his wheelchair and spun into another room. The two women followed.

Carla leaned to whisper in her ear. “Did you know he was . . . ?” 

Caitlin shook her head. She wished Carla would just say the word. Being disabled wasn’t a dirty act, something unfriendly for child ears. Disabled people—mental, physical, verbal, whatever—existed, same as the abled. Caitlin didn’t let herself think about why she didn’t consider _herself_ in that group. She was entirely stable. Yes, such large gaps in memory would be concerning if _she_ wasn’t the patient, but that didn’t mean anything. It never meant anything; she wasn’t supposed to know it meant anything, so… she didn’t. She never looked at herself when she thought about it.

She never wanted to know.

She didn’t say anything until Wells asked her to. “So, how many soulmates do you have now, Caitlin?”

“Um, along with the newest one, I think...” She bit her lip, her trail of thought leaving her for a moment. She blinked back the tiredness. “Uh, nine. Yeah, nine.”

He tried to lock eyes with her. She didn’t like the way his gaze pinned her own, like she was an experiment to dissect. She shivered at how _familiar_ it _felt_ rather than was. “Can you list them off for me?”

“The red string of fate, triple persona symbols, both of the first words one, full name, the hair color blot, mail via writing on the skin, and an empathetic bond.” She smoothed her skirt. “I, um, haven’t met any of them yet.”

He reread the papers on his desk. “What about the SM-type Colorblind-ness?” he asked. 

Caitlin found herself unable to look away from her shoes. “My daughter is very forgetful, you understand,” Carla said. “It’s difficult for her to, ah, connect dots, recall events, etcetera. It’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m sure she’d be able to identify any symptoms, given her field.”

“Oh?” His smile widened. “Of course! You’re _eighteen,_ you’d be in college by now. So, what are you studying, Caitlin?”

“I’ve actually been in college since I was 16,” she replied. “I skipped a few years in high school.”

“That’s, wow—” He laughed a bit. It was as if he already knew that, and was playing up his supposed lack of knowledge. “That’s impressive.”

She nodded. “Thank you. But to answer your question, I’m currently working for a degree in medicine so I can apply to bioengineering. Mom wants me to come work with her after I finish school.”

“Well, that sounds like a great plan. I do hope it works out.”

She flashed her teeth. “Me, too.”

“Can we get to the point?” growled Carla. “Dr. Wells, Caitlin can’t possibly have fucking _ten_ soulmates! I mean, for christ sake, what the hell? There has to be a mistake—”

Wells’ demeanor changed at that word. “Perhaps you made the mistake,” he hissed, “when you stopped bringing her to me. I could have helped all of you make sense of the soulbonds, but now we’re here.” 

“There’s no _‘all’_ anymore,” Caitlin mumbled.

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s only the two of us now.” The way it sounded felt gross on her tongue. It was too neutral, too bored, as if she wasn’t talking about her father’s death, but some stupid commercial interrupting her favorite show.

Wells frowned. It wasn’t any better than his laugh. “Well, I’m—I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Snow. Ms. Tannhauser.”

A voice deep inside her whispered out a laugh. _Don’t be,_ and if Caitlin wanted to, she could almost feel its blue-mouthed smirk; _I’m not._

Carla’s phone buzzed in her purse. She grabbed it, declined the call and threw it back in. “This last one seems almost alive! It’s some type of fucking fire emoji, and it fucking discharges! Isn’t there some type of cure?”

 _What am I, chopped liver?_ The voice hissed in amusement. Caitlin ignored it. It didn’t mean anything, she would say to herself, it was her subconscious, simply having a laugh. _That’s_ what her reasoning would have been if she even had the decency to acknowledge it. 

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way to fix a soulbond. Some marks, mails and modes are temporary, but that’s as far as your ‘cure’ hope goes—” Wells went, but Carla’s phone shook again. She huffed, taking it in her hands harshly and almost screaming into the receiver. 

“Fucking what?!” After a moment of silence, she rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to take this, I’ll be right back.” Without another word, she left. Caitlin listened as the tap of her heels became fainter and fainter. 

He gave the young woman a polite face. “So… are you doing well in school?”

“Top of my class.”

“Wow, the amazements never cease with you, do they?” He chuckled. “I expected nothing less. You were always so smart, Caitlin.”

She folded her hands on her lap. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, come now, we’re both adults here. You can call me Harrison.”

“Well, um, thank you, Dr. Harrison.”

“Anytime.”

Caitlin looked away at his too-friendly nod. He reminded her of a serial killer.

“So, tell me about these gaps in your memory. Are they frequent?”

Caitlin felt herself swallow. “We’re here to talk about my new soulmark, I think it’s best we, uh… use our time wisely.” 

“Of course. Continue what your mother was telling me?”

“Right, uh—so, i-it’s a fire emoji. It’s on my shoulder and it dimly glows. It feels warm when you touch it, but I don’t feel any different than normal. It dispels—so far harmless and small—flecks of ash.”

“You said it’s on your shoulder?” He gestured to it. “May I see?” 

She quickly adjusted her shirt until it showed what she was looking for. 

“Hmm.” He nodded. He did that a lot, Caitlin noted. “That seems to be a personality-type soulmark. It represents duality.” 

“Duality?” 

“Yin and ying, fire and ice, blue and pink, basically opposites attract.”

The voice took in a breath. _Yes they do,_ she giggled. _Just look at us, Caity._

“Caitlin, are you alright? You’re looking a bit flushed.”

She looked at her hands, but she didn’t see just blush. Goosebumps were rising on her skin. Once she saw that, it was as if bags were tugging on her eyelids. 

“Yeah, I’m—I’m okay.” Her feet were on the chair before she even knew it. “Tired, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. The concern fell flat. 

“Yeah,” she managed out, more out of instinct than from actually hearing what he said. She found herself staring into the distance, barely blinking. “I’m... fine.”

“Alright. Well, that mark isn’t harmful, so you have nothing to worry about. I remember the way Carla was, so I’m sure this visit wasn’t your idea. It’s a shame she doesn’t have Thomas to reel her in anymore.” His fingers tapped on his desk. “Say, what _did_ happen to your father, Caitlin? He was such a good man, and how he adored you! Too many parents fail to understand their children, but Thomas, he did everything in his power to understand _you._ I’ll say, it was an honor to have known him. I was always very impressed with how he took your diagnosis, Caitlin—”

_“I’m not fucking Caitlin, so how ‘bout you shut your fucking hole, huh?”_

Wells’s eyes went wide. Killer Frost swore his creepy-ass smile flipped to genuine. He didn’t seem scared of the way her hair flowed to white, or how her eyes glowed in a slightly lighter hue than her rapidly paling skin, or the way her soulmarks were switching out. 

He asked anyways, but Frost could tell he already knew the answer. “... What’s your name?” 

She looked around the room. Gagging at Caitlin’s choice of clothes, the sweater was off before Wells could object. It fell to the floor, but the new woman didn’t care in the slightest. She grabbed a jacket hung up on a wall rack and slipped into it. Then she slid onto Wells’ desk.

 _“I’m Killer Frost,”_ she grinned, drinking in the way her voice still echoed even outside her usual playhouse; their mindscape. _“Let me show you why.”_ She let her eyes shimmer dangerously, and tapped her nails against his knuckles. 

They watched as the area immediately went black.

He was almost beaming. “Extraordinary,” he breathed out. “And how did you get here, Killer Frost?”

She found the question _delicious._ He didn’t know that one, she could tell. Didn’t he know curiosity killed the cat? 

Though, it wasn’t the cat’s fault it was so fucking stupid. 

_“Let’s just say, Daddy liked to play.”_ She hopped off the desk and put her back to the doorway. _“Well, not_ my _daddy. Caitlin’s.”_

“Is there a difference?”

She barked a mockful laugh. _“Well, that would make my thing with Caity a bit incestous, don’t you think?”_ Her lips perked in a smug smirk. _“We may share a body, but we sure as shit don’t share those fucks.”_

“... You have a thing with Caitlin?”

 _“Oh, did I forget to mention that part?”_ Frost batted her lashes innocently. _“Who do you think is the reason Caity gets to see the true beauty of blue waters?”_

He watched her, intently. “So you’re the alter.”

Killer Frost glared at him. _“The fuck is that?”_

“Alternate personality,” he snapped. “Come back inside and I’ll tell you about it.” 

Frost lingered. She looked back at the exit, then stopped her eyes on him. Finally, with a groan, she stomped back into the office and slammed the door. The blinds were pulled down, leaving a trail of frost on the cord. She turned and put her hands on her hips, pouting. _“Well, Wells?”_

When she didn’t sit down, he went on. “They’re created to cope with repeated childhood trauma, either to compartmentalize traumatic memories, to perform a service for the original, or both. It occurs at a young age, since children do not form with an integrated personality; this is why kids can switch so easily between moods or persona. Failure to fuse one’s personality leads the child to develop multiple states of identity. It’s part of Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

_“And that is?”_

“The reclassified Multiple Personality Disorder.” He explained. Frost scrunched her face at his cat-like smirk. “Is the woman that I met today the original Caitlin?”

Frost hated how his gaze prodded her. _“I’m not gonna tell you shit.”_

“Is that because you want to protect yourself, or because you love her?” 

She didn’t make a sound. 

“Ah. I understand. You want her to succeed, even if it means renouncing your own free will.”

 _“That’s something I’m not willing to give up,”_ she bit, the words spewing out of her a little too fast. Wells was impressed by how quickly she regained herself and smirked, using the situation to her advantage. Was that her purpose? Caitlin was the preparation, but Frost was the strike team? It sounded so, by her offer. _“I want us to be separated. I can’t work with Caitlin always pushing me down, and there’s no way she’ll accept me off the bat if I’m discovered.”_ Her hands latched on Carla’s empty chair, her fingers curling on the top until it was under a sheet of growing ice. _“So, weird alien guy, what are you going to do about it?”_

He stared at the chair, considering the ice. “Alien guy?” He mused.

Frost let out a groan. _“Come on, you barely did anything when I gave you frostbite. That bitch doesn’t even hurt!”_ She narrowed her eyes. _“What_ are _you?”_

“... A visitor,” he decided.

 _“A bad copy,”_ she hissed.

“You might see it that way, but everyone else—even Caitlin’s mother—is plenty fooled. I imagine the only reason you recognized me as unnatural is because you and Caitlin have experience in that area.”

 _“Touché.”_ Frost quipped, manspreading her legs as she sat on the chair of ice. _“Pro tip; real Harrison isn’t entirely pretentious. Slip in some slang, try to blend in. You’re supposed to_ like _kids, you gotta know Gen Z culture.”_

“Thanks for the note, but I think I’m doing fine on my own.”

_“Another note; real Harry ain’t so fuckin’ obsessed with his pride.”_

“Yes, well, I’d offer you a few notes, but you’re terrible at blending in.” He looked her up and down. “What if Carla comes back and sees you like this?”

 _“Haven’t you been counting?”_ Killer Frost snickered, but it turned into a sigh at the end. _“... She’s not coming back, dumbass.”_

Frost pretended not to notice how he glanced at the blinds. He was tense now, but strangely fascinated by the specimen before him. It made her white skin crawl. Her hands instinctively found her arms and she hated the texture of the hoodie that covered her. She was thankful that Caitlin wore pitch-black tights under her skirt. She slipped out of it easily, flinging the flushed color into the same bin she’d dropped Caity’s sweater. Seriously, that girl needed to live a little! What’s the use of Frosty taking away all her bad memories if she doesn’t make use of it? 

She _knew_ Caitlin could have fun. She just… needed to find her people. _“So, what’s your name, body-snatcher? Real one.”_

The fake Wells stared at his hands and clicked his tongue until she finished changing. He stood up and held out a hand, his voice strong but strained. She could tell how calculated this play was; nothing of his was spur of the moment, was it? No, this imposter was a _planner._

She could use some of that.

He considered her for a second. “Eobard Thawne,” he said. When they touched, she felt her hand buzzing like it pulsed with adrenaline. The contact made Eobard’s hand go black within seconds, but he didn’t seem to care. Almost like he felt nothing. After a minute, the darkness fell into the skin, reversing the effects of Killer Frost’s touch.

She began to smile wickedly.

“You like that trick?” He smiled. “I have a lot more to show you.”

 _“Yeah? Prove it,”_ she snarled. Her ambition chewed at her pride, how _dare_ a man like that exist, someone she couldn’t fucking _ice—_ but Caity needed her more, _she_ needed Caitlin more than that. _“Get me the fuck out of this body.”_

“Is that what you really want?”

_“It’s the only way she’ll learn to love me.”_

“That’s not an answer.” 

Her foot rapped impatiently on the ground. _“Just fucking do it!”_

He paused. “... It might take a few years—”

_“I’ve been waiting a long time, I can wait a little more.”_

Eobard sat back down and stirred the papers again. “Alright. Alright, look, Caitlin has to finish school before we meet again, and that’s including her medical residency. When she’s 24, you will influence her and send in an application to me. When you front, you and I can search for a way to split you in two different bodies, while Caitlin still gets to have a job and a life. How does that sound?”

His tone didn’t peak at the question. In his mind, it was a done-deal. No matter how much his arrogance made Killer itch to put a shard in his throat, she had to admit, his idea lined up perfectly with what she wanted for Caity, and for herself.

So, she opened the door and looked over her shoulder. _“Deal, old man. See you in six.”_

He almost tried to stand again, but there were too many eyes now. “Where are you going?”

 _“I’ve been dormant since almost two years ago.”_ She kicked off Caitlin’s shoes. _“I think it’s time I showed the body how to party, huh?”_ She laughed, but it sounded like jagged glass, bitter and breathy and enchanting. Snow wisped out from under her purple tongue and danced around her equally-hued hair. Ice followed her steps as she ambled towards the exit doors. She raised her hand and there a knife glistened out of her bare palm. _“Bye-bye, Eobard.”_

She was gone. 

He sat back in his wheelchair and let a real smile contort his lips. He would never not _love_ how easy the past was. The people were so desperate for salvation. Even Killer Frost was gullible. He saw her future; he just didn’t know he had a part to play in her downfall. 

Well, no time to think about it, he knew, as his phone went off. He had a lot to do before he was ready for Caitlin Snow.

Caitlin immediately gripped her skull. Her head ached like never before. Where _was_ she? She looked up from the wooden thing—a table, she saw—her forehead had been pressed against a second earlier. She registered her own kitchen. Her gaze snapped on the soulmarks on her palm, then the large dot of brunette on her right wrist and the single word splayed on the left one. Quickly, she realized both were visible. She glanced down at herself. Frick where she was, what was she _wearing?_

Her body was so bare, Caitlin couldn’t help but shudder, despite never feeling an ounce cold. All she had on was black tights, a gray jacket, and a bra for a top. She didn’t even have on any shoes. To make matters worse, the bra _certainly_ didn’t belong to her. She knew somebody (she would tell herself it was a gift from her _‘classmate,’_ Lexi LaRoche, and mused it as a mocking comment on Caitlin’s wariness towards showing skin) had bought other ones that she never wore, but even this one wasn’t even a part of that collection. It was stark black and lacy. She nervously reached out to rub the strap, as if to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating the sight. That wasn’t the only thing she felt. 

Some woman’s lipstick dyed her neck. 

As soon as she made contact, she zipped the two sides of the jacket somehow draped around her tightly together, with a single thought in her mind; _what was going on?_

Had she fallen asleep studying again? But there were no books on the table… wait, what was a journal doing there? Carla recorded everything on her phone. Caitlin was the only one in the house who used paper notes. 

It was opened on the first page. Caitlin thought she recognized the baby blue color, the sloppy handwriting, even the mystery contained in the vague phrasing struck a chord somewhere within her mind—but what truly caught her attention was the now-dried wetness of the paper, and the white rocks of ice sticking on the corners.

 _1._ _Matching aura soulmail - Leslie; white, 20, F_

Caitlin’s eyes widened. She felt the wind get knocked out from under her when she read what was under it. She shook her head as her hands trembled violently, dismissing the pink that tinted her knuckles as adrenaline and nothing more. 

_Hey, Caity. Fuck, I wish I had your patience. I just can’t wait to touch you, to see her again. Oh, did I tell you? I made a new friend. Two, actually, but the first’s not important. Babe, I found my soulmate. One of the five, at least. God, she’s even more of a bitch than me. Isn’t that incredible? You’ll love her, I know you will. Maybe not as much as I already do. I have to go now, I trust you’ll do what you always do, huh? You’ll ignore me, repress this so hard that I get taken down a peg or two. It’s almost hot, your whole act. You can do it, I believe in you._

Caitlin could almost hear the—what was the word?—the alter’s soured snicker.

_Sweet dreams, Caity—_

She stopped reading. She saw her phone sat on the kitchen counter and she gripped it tightly. Memories flashed in her head about a blonde woman, crass and blunt and just as dirty as—as that thing inside Caitlin, that frigging _thing_ she didn’t dare name, she didn’t dare to want, _fuck how she wanted her—_ Leslie, Leslie was the woman’s name. Caitlin almost remembered how it felt to breathe freezing air into the older woman’s lips. They’d seen each other and their forms bursted in blue in the other’s eyes, solid against the flashing strobes in the club. Khoine—no, Lexi—no, Alice— _no, motherfucking Killer Frost—_ had grabbed her soulmate by the hand and pulled their chests together and back and together and back again on the dance floor. Before Frost left her, there was something she held up; a string in front of her smirk. 

What was it? A necklace, right? She—not Caitlin—had given her a necklace, a crystal of ice as the pendant, whispering into the stranger’s ear to _wait. “Wait for me, kitten, and we’ll see who’s the best blue.”_

 _Kitten._ Frost had called her kitten because… something to do with a cat? _Kitten . . ._ Caitlin’s hands found her head again. Why did it hurt so much? There was somebody else, she _wasn’t alone,_ she wanted to be _fucking_ _alone—_

Her fingers typed the words as Caitlin caught her breath. The link to MPD redirected her to another page.

 **_Dissociative identity disorder_ ** _(_ ** _DID_** _), previously known as_ **_multiple personality disorder_ ** _(_ ** _MPD_** _),_ _[7]_ _is a_ mental disorder _characterized by the maintenance of at least two distinct and relatively enduring_ personality states. [3] _The disorder is accompanied by_ memory gaps _beyond what would be explained by ordinary forgetfulness._ _[3][5]_

Her face went pale and she dropped her phone on the counter. Her breathing took another turn and suddenly her throat felt way too dry. She huffed in a big gulp of air, and her composure regained. She took the phone and exited out the page. The notebook made a clash sound as it clattered into the trash can. She was normal, she was stable, and everything was fine. Of course she was the only person in her body. Of course nothing had ever happened to her. Of course she was fine.

If she had bothered to continue reading the passage, maybe she would have felt less threatened as the host personality.

_Sweet dreams, Caity. I love you._

Everything was fine. 

Years later, Caitlin would wish she never found that pen again.

**VIII**

Caitlin went through her life ignoring the soulbonds that tugged at her. She had repressed the voices in her head until all they could do was watch as the world went by. Tommy had long-since fallen into Caitlin, and Killer Frost was the only other person in her body now. Not that she cared to know.

College was done. Caitlin had a choice to make, one of the biggest in her life. There was something that heaved in her chest every time her mother talked about how Caitlin would soon be hired at Tannhauser Industries. Caitlin knew that that wasn’t what she wanted; trapped by her mother wasn’t what she wanted. Caitlin almost, _almost_ gave into Carla’s plan. But that sinking, suffocating thing inside her body urged her elsewhere. 

There was an elsewhere. There had to be.

Caitlin had a few years to break the news to Carla. But her mom was a smart woman, and she saw the way Caitlin’s smile flagged and how she froze for just a second when Carla brought it up. 

Her mother was shouting in her ear. Caitlin didn’t like the loud sound. Suddenly, she was screaming back. Terrible words were exchanged.

Carla’s hand on her was so alien. Even in _this_ fashion. The palm that slapped Caitlin’s cheek left her red. Caitlin was out the door that following moment.

She walked into the first hotel she found. Her paychecks came from McDonalds. 

When the woman she was serving her medical residency under overhead this, Rachel Rosso was kind to her. She opened up her home. Caitlin found the warm family so strange compared to her own. It reminded her of better times. 

Ramsey called her _‘Cait Ro-Snow’_ instead. Caitlin named him _‘Ramsalot’_ in turn. 

Her 24th birthday came and passed. Her residency was done. Caitlin realized she didn’t have any plans after this. Ramsey snickered at that, bragging about how his mother would certainly recommend him to the best.

Citing her friendship with Dr. Wells, Rachel sent Caitlin’s application to STAR Labs. Everything went wrong with Ramsey.

They screamed for an hour until Caitlin packed her things and left. She bought out an apartment with her old emergency credit card; a loft because it was the highest to get to. She wanted whoever came for her to really think about it, to work for it. No one came for her.

No one ever came for her.

**1.**

“Ah, this is who Rachel recommended.”

His eyes went wide in a way that made Ronnie squint. They were looking over the new résumés, Ronnie listening along to his boss as they vetted his possible co-workers.

“Oh, I-I know this girl. She’s, uh—she’s honestly quite remarkable.” Dr. Harrison Wells said. Ronnie was confused by his sudden stammer; there’s not many people who could make him do that. Ronnie looked at the polite smile on the picture’s face. She was bundled up in winter clothes, as much covered skin as possible. Her hair was curly, but not wild, falling down one shoulder in waves. He didn’t care, though, because though she looked so warm and nice, the cold glint in her dark eyes sold a different story. 

Wells regained his composure. “I diagnosed her soulbonds.”

“You did that for practically everyone in Central!” grumbled Hartley Rathaway. “Now you’re doing actually _important_ work.” 

The room collectively groaned, but Ronnie, he laughed. Hartley scowled at him, though he wouldn’t recognize how uncomfortable his smile was, Ronnie knew that for sure. He was used to defusing situations, after all. It wasn’t like him to slip up, even in the name of the type of woman that could make Dr. Harrison Wells nervous.

“Knowing your soulbond is very important.” Ronnie ended the last bit of his chuckle. “It can save people from a life of wondering! And it gives them closure, hope, you know? Either had those, man?”

The other employees nodded with amusement, but Hartley rolled his eyes. “You’d know about that,” he hissed, quiet enough for their ears only, _“man-whore.”_

“Heel, Hartley.” Wells snapped back. Ronnie smiled as Wells swiftly continued. “How many years has it been? She’s got to be 24 now, a year younger than you.” He looked Ronnie in the eye. “... You know, Raymond, she has multiple marks as well.”

Ronnie glanced at the realistic snow etched on his shoulder that always dulled the nearest skin, and sent a shiver down his spine if he touched it. “Hey, personally, I can’t wait to meet the person whose personality is _snow.”_

The room erupted in casual laughter. He smirked, but his eyes quickly turned back to the picture. Hmm. Her left shoulder seemed… slightly more flushed than the right, like glowing but contained flame.

“Weird that you mention snow, Ronnie, considering it’s her last name.” Wells smiled a bit at Ronnie’s knitted brows. “Or maybe, I should say, _rare.”_

**2.**

“Aren’t you coming to your brother’s birthday party?”

“Mom, I _have_ to study for this final.” 

“Is mechanical engineering really worth missing this?” 

Cisco suppressed the urge to scream, and went with a lie instead. “You know I’d be there if a could—”

“I actually don’t know that,” his mother bit. “You missed it last year.”

“It’s not my fault Dante was born during finals week!” 

He heard a sigh on the other line. How was he supposed to explain to her, that he didn’t want to go because they called him a name that wasn’t his, with a family that didn’t want him? He shook his head. 

“Alright,” she conceded, not happily. “Have fun with your… dirty work.”

“It’s not _‘dirty work,’_ Mom—” He started, but his argument fell when he heard the call go dead. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “Just a little longer, me, and all your dreams will come true.” He turned his head and spread his fingers so he could look at the poster on his wall. 

Someday, if he tried hard enough, he’d get the chance to work with Dr. Wells. That’s what his mother didn’t understand; sure, Dante made people happy with his music, but he was also a condescending, transphobic asshole who hit on all of Cisco’s female friends. Cisco wanted to do more than bring smiles, though he wasn’t about to give up his role as the comedic relief in any given situation. He needed to actually _help_ people, like Wells had done all his life. He had changed so many lives during his career. First he was the most renowned soulbond specialist, and then he changed gears to being an accomplished scientist after some undetailed run-in with, in his own words, an _“extraordinary girl.”_

Cisco wondered what type of person that girl must have been, to inspire his hero like that. He was only sixteen when he heard about it, but his thoughts always came back to her. Was she a kid like he used to be, or was she in college now? How was she extraordinary? He hoped that Wells would think of him like that. Maybe he’d even _meet_ that special girl.

He pulled away his hands and stared at his palms. One of his soulmates were very passionate about vials, the hippocratic oath and list-making; they seemed entirely work-orientated. Not that Cisco wasn’t a workaholic himself, but he hoped that soulmate left time for fun. Maybe _that’s_ why they were connected, so he could remind them to leave room for play. 

He rubbed his hands together. _God, who would hire a kid with eight bonds?_

Just a little longer, and he would graduate college with a degree in mechanical engineering, he’d be 23, and send in his application to STAR Labs. He would meet Wells and make good with his co-workers, and it would all be exactly like he imagined it.

Just a little longer. 

**3.**

She bit his lip as he pulled away for air. She pushed him against her dorm room walls and kissed his neck, breathing into him with little to no care for who he happened to be. She didn’t care how her dark lipstick stained him. Why shouldn’t he be marked by her when she was tethered to eight people? It wasn’t fair, none of it was, and that stupid brownie only amplified the resentment she had for the many marks that dotted her, for the lacrosse player that held her back for two fucking years, for her body, for _everything;_ the world it—fucking—self.

“Felicity, w-wait,” the 22-year-old gasped out. “We’re, like, uh, _really_ fucking high. Are you sure?”

Felicity tore off his stupid flannel jacket. “What’s the big deal, Cooper?” She glared at him. “Wait, you’re not a top, are you? That’s usually my thing.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Uh, w-what about the team? Like, don’t you think this will fuck it up a bit,”—he blushed, like they shared some special secret nobody else knew, despite Myron knowing full well. It wasn’t a bad feeling that stirred in her gut, Felicity admitted. She liked the rush of their hacktivism as much as they did. But she had only bended the rules before college. Finding her people at MIT had fueled her in finally breaking them. Felicity was almost drunk off the chaos and thrill, so much she didn’t care who occupied her bed tonight—“Ghost Fox Goddess?”

She pressed her inner thighs on his. The corner of her lips perked up at how his eyes went wide. With a tilt of her head, she let it develop into a small smirk. “We’re all big boys, Cooper.”

“I, um—” He gulped. “Like, are you… um, do you still have—”

“I’m kind of poor as shit, dude, I can barely afford my femme&m’s.” Felicity giggled, bitterly. She took a step away from him. “W-What is it? Are you uncomfortable being with me if, uh…” She pointed finger-guns at her lap.

“I mean... not really,” he shrugged. “Just, like, are _you_ comfortable with it? I feel like we should talk about it. So that you’re not, um, dysphoric or anything like that.”

 _“Oh.”_ She blinked at him. “You’re... actually a pretty guy, Cooper.”

“I try,” he smiled. “Other than all the laws I’ve broken.”

She grinned back. “Besides all those, we’re innocent.” Her hands found his face. “Look, if I don’t like something, I’ll tell you. I’ll lead, but you gotta do the same for me. ’Kay?”

He kissed her. “That works for me.”

When their bodies were together, he didn’t ask about the way she was nicked by several other colors, scattered seemingly at random. He looked at one for only a moment before he crashed their lips together. She wasn’t his soulmate, that they both discovered, feeling in full view of the other’s body. Though there was no question that the sentence spread on his arm was what she had first said to him.

He was hers, but she wasn’t his. For some reason, Felicity was okay with that. 

Usually, the people she had over didn’t stay too long after. She didn’t mind Cooper’s quiet snoring, though. She glanced down at their naked skin and grabbed a blanket to cover her lower half. Her hand was still on his chest and her head laid under his chin. She reread the words made out on his arm a few times. She knew there was nothing on her own, at least not in the middle, but for some reason she felt the need to check anyways. 

She was wrong.

Her gaze quickly found the window. She barely felt herself breathing. Who else is out there, living a life beyond her reach? Maybe they would love her, or maybe they would love to love to love her. Whatever this thing going on between her soulmates was, she knew they were connected for a reason. Maybe they needed her help. She could choose them, or one, or not at all. She didn’t know which one she wanted yet. 

There, glistening rosy on her arm, was a love letter in perfect cursive writing.

_Hey, it’s Caitlin. I know we haven’t really talked in a few years, but I heard back from Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories today. I got the job._

Felicity smiled to herself. Well, she wanted to take on the world, didn’t she? That didn’t mean she had to find Caitlin Snow just yet. Sure, Caitlin never told her the name in full, but Felicity had her way of finding out, if she could get into privatized medical files (and, really, what couldn’t she get into?). Thinking about her soulmate, Felicity could already feel the pull to wreak some havoc. She’d been so isolated as a kid, afraid of always messing up, of getting trapped in her hometown, of being alone. She’d gotten out, and Cooper was warm enough to keep her company. She made messing up her _bitch._ She wasn’t ready to give that up yet. 

As the delicious memories pooled in her gut, a seed sprouted into an idea. Her mind whirred and she felt her fingertips buzz while the train of thought quickly found its tracks. She would manifest something so terrible, so naked and raw, that she’d be admired long after her account was deactivated. A virus that could give her root access to any server she could infect. She would control everything, a big-bang that would rock the passive world out of their daze, right before she got her degree in computer science. She licked her lips as she glanced at Cooper. God, wouldn’t that be a great graduation gift for her almost-soulmate? And it was just in time for Caitlin’s birthday next month! Cooper could share, couldn’t he? After all, they were meant to be. 

They _all_ were. 

**4.**

“I don’t get it,” he admitted. “Isn’t that, like, um—no offense, baby, you know I love your dad as if he were my own, but isn’t that, like, kinda hypocritical of him?” 

Iris smiled for the first time that day. “That’s what I said.” 

She locked eyes with him while they walked, blushing at the way he adoringly sputtered. They turned their gazes to their usual seats. The two soulmates were walking with hooked arms, coffee in their free hands. It was Iris’ work break, finally; the entire day, her mind had been occupied with her current lacking homelife. The only comfort she had was her daily visit from her soulmate.

Their arms fell from one another’s hold while they got seated. Barry still reached out to take her hand, and Iris instinctively reciprocated it. It was so familiar that it made her heart ache. 

“Thanks for always being on my side, Barry,” she said. 

He grinned. “It’s what we do.”

She felt her spirits lift at the soft twinkle in his eye. Iris remembered when she first met Barry Allen, her sugary-sweet classmate-turned-soulmate-turned-best-friend-turned… whatever _this_ was. She didn’t like thinking about herself pre-transition, but it remained her favorite to think about. It had been the first day of 5th grade. As soon as she had walked in the classroom, the world stopped spinning. 

Everything went quiet and still, like everybody but her was put into slow-motion. She’d been scared, her eyes cowering the crowd of frozen people, searching for a sliver of movement. She walked until she came face-to-face with a tall (let’s say) boy. They stared back at each other, watching the world go slower and slower around them. Their hands whirred closer like magnets trying to connect. It took them a second to look down at their clasped fingers. Both their eyes widened as their palms glowed brightly, sending an electric shock through their bodies, before it dimmed to the point of where they barely felt it anymore. Everyone else sped back to normal. 

That day, they’d walked home together, talking about everything and anything. All the times the other had come out was on those walks; ten-year-old Barry didn’t want to say _‘sexual’_ so he said ‘pan- _cake’_ instead. Likewise, about a year later, she told him she was a ‘bi _-cycle.’_ When they felt the other bonds, of course they’d done their research, and drew the Pi symbol on just about everything. At 14, Iris had shown him a card trick and come up with an ace of hearts, crudely colored in the demiro flag. 

They’d continued the tradition throughout their entire lives, even when they were both attending college. Now, Barry was on his last year, while Iris had graduated not that long ago. He would come to Jitters after class and escort her all the way to the Wests’ family house, before returning to his apartment. Sometimes, Joe even let him stay the night, but god forbid they sleep on the same level! Sure, there was a period 10th grade where Barry had lived with them, but that was because they were sorting out his, in his own words, _‘get-out-of-foster-care-free’_ papers. If Iris’ bed was upstairs, then Barry had to take the couch. She remembered the way he sadly snuggled his invisible teddy bear, Mr. Jiggle Wiggle. She had to stop herself from laughing at the name. 

One time, Iris’d tried to sneak him up to her room—not to do anything, but because they were trying to get in extra hours during a musical bingeathon—and Joe had flung out of his room at the first stair creak. 

She really wished her father didn’t know their schedules so well. Maybe then they could sneak off to Barry’s place for a bit, rewatch some musical bootleg… she could only dream her break lasted _that_ long. 

“He’s probably just worried about you,” Barry said. “Remember how many times you called me when your dad was working late so you wouldn’t be alone?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that for my kid.”

Iris made a _hmm_ noise, slightly sighing into her coffee as she took a sip. He turned his gaze to the table, anxiously tapping on the side of his cup. Iris recognized the melody before she even knew it; _Singing In The Rain._ He always did it when he needed white noise or to move his hands, which was all the time. She found it adorable, and combed her hair behind her ear to hide the giggle rising in her throat.

He took in a breath. “I-I mean, I wouldn’t—” his skin flushed red. “I-I wouldn’t want that for my soulmate, either.”

“... But not for me, right?” She joked.

He laughed. “No, one of the other eight.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They smiled at each other.

“Fantastic,” she hissed, not unhappily.

He returned the challenge in her glare. “Spectacular.”

“Momentous.”

“Beautiful.”

“Jaw-dropping.”

“Amazing.”

“Exceptional.”

He leaned into the table. “Earth- _shattering.”_

She did the same, almost dropping her chin on the wood with how quickly she rocked forward, and smirked. She didn’t blink as she drawled out each syllable of her next word, clicking her tongue with every pause. “Quin…tess…en...tial.”

Barry let out a fond scoff. “That is not a real word.” 

“Are you sure you’re not just a sore loser, baby?” Iris said, pouting her lips. 

After losing her staring contest, he moved his back back to the chair. “Jeez, you win every time!”

She picked up her cup. “And I can’t _wait_ to continue that legacy.”

Barry chuckled, watching her while she swallowed. “Look,” he started, “not that it wouldn’t be awesome if we worked together, but maybe you should focus on your other passion! You’re a psychology grad student and you were always great at writing. Plus, you are _so_ observant, you’re like an eye in the sky! So, um, if Joe doesn’t allow your becoming a cop, you _could_ take your news blog to the next level. Like applying to Picture News, maybe?”

With a sigh, Iris pulled her hand away from him. “Barry, this entire thing is sexist. I’m 23, I don’t _need_ his permission to do anything.”

“And I’ve been emancipated since I was 16, that doesn’t mean I don’t value the opinions of people with more experience than I have.” 

Iris arched her eyebrows. “Goddamn you and your childhood trauma.”

He nodded sadly. “I’ll be sure to tell it that.”

They laughed, their hands meeting once again. Iris beamed at his face-splitting grin. He turned pink so easily, and basically flashed puppy-dog-eyes minute to minute. She wondered if it was appropriate to call a brunette the human version of a golden retriever. 

He was always moving, always happy, always brimming with affection. She had needed that after her mother died when they were kids. He’d needed her, too. Wasn’t it wonderful they’d found each other so early? Sure, they hadn’t found anyone else yet, but they could continue the search when they both had their lives on the right track. Iris blushed at the thought of meeting them. She only had two soulmarks; a hand-sized area of dead skin cells on her upper arm, coloring the spot where that soulmate would first touch her whiter than Barry, and a stripe of color where the other would first look at her, which was apparently from behind. She had a golden spot on her back because of it.

That wasn’t all she had. She knew of a few other soulbonds, like the soulmail where she couldn’t stop crying because her soulmate couldn’t— _that_ was a great thing to discover at 16, plus the compass on the side of her wrist that was invisible to other eyes and pointed in the direction of her soulmate. She almost forgot about the red string on her ring finger, because it was so lose from such a young age. She figured that that SM had crossed paths with her once but they didn’t notice since they were kids. 

“Iris, times up!” Her co-worker Stacy yelled. She shot a teasing smile at Barry. “Sorry, cutie, but break’s over.”

Iris pushed her cup toward Barry for him to finish and stood up. “I get off at nine today,” she reminded him. “I’ll see you then?”

He got on his feet and nodded. “Always.” They stared at each other for a moment before he awkwardly leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to her cheek. 

“Um, bye,” she giggled, brushing her hair back again. 

Barry looked like he was about to explode. “Yeah, see you later,” he squeaked, and sped off in a flash.

“Later!” She called after him. Then she saw the look on Stacy’s face. “Oh, don’t start!”

“I’m just saying,” Stacy cooed, “you two are _adorable—”_

“Right, sure!” Iris waved her off. “The only way I’d ever _say_ it, is if the world was ending.” 

**5.**

His foot was tapping anxiously against the floor. He had his phone out, typing nonsense into the gray YouTube search bar and clicking whichever thumbnail had a kitten.

“Man, chill out,” the guy next to him whined. “Fuck, you’re making _me_ nervous!”

“It’s just a written exam,” the other guy said. “Standard for promotions. Nothing to freak out about.”

 _Yeah,_ Eddie resisted the urge to say, _except your both fucking cishet! Try being a bi trans cop!_ I _don’t even like me!_ “Sure, sure, whatever,” he nodded instead. He tried to breathe as casually as possible, but couldn’t find the courage, and licked his lips rapidly because his tongue was all-too dry. He wished they were outside so he could taste the cold Keystone air, get in a few extra minutes of this town before he left. Leaving was something he’d wanted to do since fucking _grade school,_ but now that it was so close, his worries ate at him. Where would he even get transferred anyways? Keystone was all he’d ever known. 

But what if he didn’t pass the exam? Then he’d be a failure, and his one exit ticket would fall from his reach. He’d be stuck here _forever._ He just wanted to go someplace simple, but exciting. Did those types of cities even exist? Maybe he could settle down, get a girlfriend. _Like that would ever happen._ Maybe his partner would turn out to be his new best friend! But all of that planning and everything he had gone through to get here—he was 25 for fuck’s sake and his entire adult life was _dedicated_ to this moment—it would all be dumped down the drain if he didn’t pass. 

Eddie hoped he passed in more ways than one.

He saw a glimpse of his soulmark protrude out from under his shirt and quickly tucked it away.

“That a monologue?” The first guy asked. “What’s yours say?” 

Eddie looked away, because looking at the man’s gray face only reminded him how his world was nothing but ash-colored since his soulmate’s death. He was fourteen when it happened. He hadn’t felt it, but he had watched in terror as his worldview bled into black-and-white. He wondered how old they were when their heart stopped. He wondered who they were, _how_ it happened. Maybe that’s what motivated him to become an officer. Would being a detective really help him stop death? His young soulmate couldn’t escape it, how could he expect to stop it in others? How could he outrun his own? 

Maybe he didn’t want to. “It’s not important.”

**6.**

She rocked forward in bed and cupped her mouth, trying not to wake her dorm roommate. She hugged her bear tightly. Her breathing came out in random bursts. She could still feel herself shivering, even while sweat warmed every inch of her body. The nightmare lingered in her mind; she could practically feel it tugging her back into the swallowing water that bashed in her head, the ocean of blood that sprout from a single chest wound. That one hadn’t even been _her._ She heaved out sigh after sigh, trying to find _something_ in her memory that would ground her—she should’ve known that would only make it worse.

Her father’s scream echoed. _“Son, baby, please!”_ He had been sobbing so loudly when she finally woke up, drenched in water and a swimsuit that was stained red at the top. The memory of how she had died for two whole minutes only made her feel more untethered to the real world. 

Then came the laughter. She remembered how she and her friends had laughed and joked and mumbled grossly about girls, while her own father was getting murdered. She felt her hands shake imagining the barrel of the gun pointed at her loving dad, her last parent, the guy who’d saved her life when she was nine, the only person who had supported her her entire life. He knew he didn’t have a son, but a daughter, and had respected that she didn’t want to come out before leaving Chesterfield for Hudson University. 

She could see the newspaper headline in her mind. _Patrick Spivot shot dead by mugger tied to multiple bank robbings._ She decided to name herself after him, she loved him so much. Fuck, how she wanted to destroy the Mardon brothers. She didn’t care that it was just Mark who’d killed him, fucking Clyde deserved it on his own. Her fists shook worse when she thought about how they were still on the run. 

Her entire life from that point on was about her dad. She didn’t stop crying for months. She abandoned her so-called friends that same year, acting as if she never knew them. She focused solely on finishing her junior and senior year of high school, then finally left behind her hometown for Central City. She was tripling in biology, chemistry, and psychics so she could become a CSI. If she could do that, she could track down the Mardon brothers and make damn-sure they never hurt anyone again. As long as everything went according to plan and she got into the program at Midway City. 

It wasn’t like the brothers would suddenly sprout superhuman abilities. That shit only happened in dark-ass comics anyways.

“Patty?” Her roommate yawned. He flashed a dumb, arrogant _smirk_ that told her just what he wanted. She half-hated him, half-needed him. She knew no one else could want anything from a monster like her. Not even her soulmates—and definitely not the smart one whose first fucking word was _“mitochondria”—_ could fall in love with her. Being around her supposed boyfriend only solidified this in her head. Even the guy she fucked didn’t see any hope for her. 

Then again, he wasn’t exactly the brightest.

He crossed the room from his own bed and got under her covers, kissing her before she could reply. Patty kissed him back, the need for someone to even fake-love her pooling in her stomach. She was a stupid kid, just like him, nineteen and self-centered and equipped with the full knowledge that their relationship would crumble in itself. Hell, when he fucked up like she knew he would, she’d probably be the one to arrest him.

Patty pushed her stuffed animal off the bed. He didn’t notice, a mixture between not caring and not being able to see it. As soulmail, it was invisible to him, after all. _He_ wasn’t the soulmate that had the matching one. He wasn’t her soulmate at all. She wondered what her destined four would think of her. Regardless, she didn’t want Mr. Jiggle Wiggle bear to see this.

She felt the fear drip away, replaced by determination and thinly-veiled rage. 

She would get justice for her father, no matter what she had to do.

**7.**

Killer Frost could barely feel herself. Her cabin home slipped away, wrapped in pure black. She felt like she was being buried under a cover of dirt. She remembered what was happening, she could feel her skin as it went numb, she was going dormant again. But this was different. This was forced; she could almost feel Caitlin downing the drugged coffee that Eobard had offered her. 

Frost rasped in their rapidly disintegrating inner world, _“Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no, he fucking lied, god-dammit, he fucking— Caity, please hear me, he’s playing you—”_ And then she felt the darkness push into her mouth, suffocating her until blue lips turned black.

All Killer Frost could think was, _I didn’t want this, I’m sorry, Caity, I didn’t want any of it,_ right before she sunk deep enough to drown.

**8.**

Kara waited. She always did. Her hope never wavered, but it broke into pieces when her manager called it.

“She’s not coming in,” the manager hissed. “You takin’ up her shift again or what, Danvers?”

Kara smiled through watery eyes and nodded. “A-Alex is a good person, I’m sure she has a good reason to miss work—”

“That’s what you said yesterday,” they scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

She wanted to say, _Alex is the brains, I’m the brawns—_ but that didn’t matter right now. “She’ll be here. I-I promise. Um, I have an interview, so I can’t—” _Fuck._ She wasn’t supposed to say that part.

“Are you fucking kidding me, kid? We’re short-staffed already!” The manager shook their head. “Look, Kara, if you walk out that door, you’re fired, alright? Hell, you think you can really make it big, little girl? You’re still 22. You’re stupid and easy to trick. Get it through your head, blondie, you’re _nothing!_ So get your uniform back on! Don’t forget to hide those stupid tattoos, or you’ll look like a fucking street rat.”

Kara felt a lodge grow in her throat. She couldn’t miss this opportunity, could she? It was _Catco._ They were the entire reason she took that internship at the Newspaper in Midvale, why she got a bachelor in the Arts of Marketing, it was all supposed to be for this big day, when or if she met the person who would change her life. But the manager’s voice was louder than hers, and she felt the plea die mournfully on her too-wet tongue. She shook her head in _yes,_ and found herself out of their sight. Her gaze was shaky, blurred by the tears that threatened to pierce her eyelids, but she still saw the only long-sleeved waitress outfit on the rack. She closed the bathroom door and undid her button shirt, sniffling. 

Her eyes found her face in the mirror. Kara watched the tears begin to roll.

In the line between fabric and skin, there was a symbol. A white-as-death bolt of electricity; it was a self-associated soulmark, her parents had called it (what that SM sees as their personal tag), _not_ a tattoo. She shuffled the hanging shirt off her arms. 

What would her manager know about her tattoos, anyways? It’s not like they were even hers! Those shapes that lined her alien flesh, most of them weren’t even of her own doing. They had appeared, one by one, inch by inch, making her writhe in phantom pain everytime that soulmate got a new one. Kara had returned the favor only three times, inking herself with scattered bits of her life story; a bike on her foot, a wolf on her wrist, even a feather on the back of her neck. No one could tell the difference, though. With all the blemishes that painted her body, it was near impossible to discern everything. Bright freckles dotted her, tattoos blurred her skin, and then… there was the name on her ribs.

Who the hell was Caitlin Snow? They weren’t on any social media, not even Facebook— _Facebook!_ She wondered who the human was. Did they have Kara’s own name? Well, of course they did, that’s how it worked; but that’s not what haunted Kara. She couldn’t stop thinking about whether the name that stretched on poor Caitlin’s skin was in English, or Kryptonian.

What would they think of the otherworldly rogue they had once been a part of, before the big bang blew their molecules apart so many millenniums ago? 

Kara dismissed it quickly, waving her hands and whispering, _“no,”_ to herself, like saying it out loud would kill off the curiosity. She pulled the uniform on, tugged at the sleeves until it covered everything, even the healed-over, but still-slit wrists that gashed that part of her. Seeing it, acknowledging it, made the tide in her stomach turn again. She felt her eyes spill new water. The thought that her six soulmates could hate themself so much… it was too much to bear. She’d never even met _any_ of them, but the idea of him or her or them—or Rao she hoped not _plural_ them—needing to carve out their pain into what must be already-specked skin just to feel an ounce of control over their life, it . . .

On this side of the coin (or was it a dice?), though the scars were never red on her wrist, it pierced Kara more than anyone would know. 

Her uniform found the floor. When she clipped her shirt back on, she made sure to forget a few buttons and to roll her sleeves so far up that it showed _everything._ She wiped her eyes as she left the bathroom.

Kara turned her gaze back on the manager, gave them a grin and slammed the door behind her. 

**9.**

Ten years. 

Kate stared at the marks on her wrist, a small ink of a wolf tattoo on the right that was almost discernable from the pitch black night, and the big freckle of ginger on the other. She looked at the orange dot a little longer, waiting to see if it would disappear again; it had sunk into her skin most of the night, but whatever SM the hair belonged to had refound their auburn. Years ago, she’d looked into _why_ her soulmate’s hair color disappeared instead of changed color, and had realized something very interesting about that particular person she was tethered to. She thought about all the words spread on her skin; they were all in black, so Kate imagined that they’d be hard to see in the darkness, too.

God. Ten years to the day.

Finally, she heaved out the air that was beginning to lodge in her chest. Her hand pulled on the car handle and her feet landed on the ground floor. She quietly shut the door, as if afraid to wake what slept in front of her. 

You can’t wake the fucking dead.

Kate started for the cemetery when another car pulled up. Her girlfriend jumped out of it and took Kate’s hand in hers. 

“Where have you been all day?” Sophie hissed, over-dripping with concern. 

Kate frowned. It wasn’t an unfamiliar face for her, but she hadn’t anticipated Sophie showing up, so it was less venomous than usual. “Uh,” she said awkwardly. “Did... you cover for me?”

“Of course, but it would’ve been nice to know beforehand!” Sophie shook her head. “... I-I had this entire thing planned, babe, I… I wanted to make this a _good_ day for you. After, um, everything.”

Kate pulled on their clutched skin until Sophie’s lips had nowhere to go but on her own.

Sophie’s eyes were still closed when Kate drew away. “... Did you just shush me with a kiss?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “One, because I love you, and two, because this day will never _not_ be fucked you for me. And I really am sorry about that.” She squeezed their hands. “You make it better though. You know that, right?”

After a long moment, Sophie nodded. 

Kate smiled at her and turned. 

“W-Wait, a-are you sure you want me to come with you?” Sophie breathed out. “I know you like to be alone when you brood.” 

Kate laughed through her nose. “Look, we’re 22, graduating in a few months, and since we’re not gonna be here over the summer, I think now’s the only time we got.” She ventured a couple steps forward. “Besides, I… I sort of want you to meet them.”

Sophie blinked, then offered Kate a soft smile. “Well… I guess no one’s gonna see us in a graveyard.”

“Exactly!”

They giggled anxiously, filling the night air with the ruffled amusement of the two forbidden soulmates. Sophie hung on Kate’s arm as they trudged by the other tombstones. Kate could tell Sophie was reading every one, her eyes skirting the underkept land. Kate didn’t have to look for their resting place, she knew this particular cemetery like the back of her hand. It wasn’t a hard feat; Gotham had a lot of cemeteries, and Kate guessed there were hundreds of other kids that knew the grounds better than they could even remember their dead parents.

In her case, _parent._

Kate stopped in front of their grave. It was bigger than the others, given that the mother and daughter shared a sand-white tombstone. Etched into the rock were their names, ages, even the cliché _lovings—_ plus some quote from the Tanakh that always felt familiar but Kate could never place. _Loving daughter, loving mother, rest in peace, blah, blah, blah._

She lost so much more on that day. That was when her entire life was changed like hell freezing over, and not in a good way.

Kate hung her chin. Beth wasn’t even fucking down there. Kate knew Beth wasn’t down there, and anybody who said otherwise was stupid as shit and a fucking _liar._

And Mary wondered why Kate had despised her stepmother so much when Catherine first married her dad.

Sophie’s tender touch on her muffled Kate’s resentment. “Should we… say something?”

“I used to, when I was a kid. Seems weird to do it now, I guess.” Kate shrugged her shoulders. “But I know ‘em. You should introduce yourself.”

“Um, okay. Sure.” Sophie let go of Kate and pressed her legs against the grass. Kate never got why everybody always talked to the gravestone, not the grave; when she was a girl, Kate thought it was like staring directly at the sky while talking to someone in front of you, so she usually laid in the small space between the two graves and would cloudwatch with them while she rambled about her day. Kate didn’t voice this, though, only smiled at Sophie Moore’s unsure innocence. The world hadn’t delivered her many heartbreaks in her day. Kate hoped it never did, but if Sophie came off-kilter… Kate would be there to hold her steady.

That’s what soulmates did, right? Kate always knew Point Rock Academy was where she would meet the other woman. It wasn’t too hard to decipher, since the name was carved into her ankle. That was a great thing to discover on your eighteenth birthday! Mary had woken her up with how hard she’d screamed upon witnessing the bloody words now-stamped on her stepsister’s flesh. Since that incident, the scar had healed over into a discolored caucasian. It would never match the rest of her skin. Kate was alright with that; how couldn’t she when she met Sophie out of it?

She saw the same mark on Sophie when she bent down. “Hi,” Sophie spoke, nervous and tight. “Uh, I’m Sophie— uhm, Moore. Sophie Moore. I’m Kate’s soulmate.” Then she smiled, and glanced warmly at her girlfriend. “Well, one of them.” 

Kate blushed. She sat on the patch of grass on Sophie’s back right. Their eyes turned back to the written names of those long-passed. Or so they thought.

“Uh, I don’t know what type of afterlife is waiting for us, but you guys are Jewish. At least now you if you’re right, right? I mean, Kate’s really smart, so you probably are. Were. Sorry. Um,” Sophie looked at Kate pleadingly, her eyebrows furrowing in anxiety, silently asking what to say. Kate was cupping her mouth, chuckling at the awkward gush. She waved her hand, urging Sophie to go on. Sophie bit her lip and turned her head back to the tomb. 

“... So.” Sophie whistled. “Sorry about this. I’m usually not this weird.”

“Liar,” Kate teased.

Rolling her eyes, Sophie found her smile. “I guess all I want to tell you is that…” She paused. “... Gabi Kane, I love your daughter. She loves me. Our search isn’t over yet, but we’re happy where we are. We’ve found each other, so that’s, what, five to go for Kate? I have it easier, I’m only missing one more. A-and I won’t have to find her alone, thanks to you. You brought Kate into this world and… and Kate has made me accept so much about myself. I-I don’t know if I’d ever let myself be gay if I didn’t find her when I did. So, um, thank you. You raised a really good person.” Sophie linked their pinky fingers on the grass. “Even though she’s sometimes an asshole.”

“Hey!” Kate barked, tearing up. She tugged her soulmate closer until Sophie was using Kate’s raised knee as a back rest, and perked a kiss against her nose. Sophie laughed into her cheek. 

“... So, got anything to say to the sister?”

Sophie looked down at the young girl’s final home. “Hey, Beth.” She sighed. “Kate talks about you all the time. I know you guys were inseparable growing up, you liked chocolate waffles… oh, you had a tendency of breaking and entering. Have you met any of those ghosts you two contacted yet?”

Kate fondly scoffed. “Ouija boards are sold by the same people that make My Little Pony, y’know. It can’t be _that_ dangerous.”

Sophie shook her head in mock-disappointment. “Capitalism doesn’t care, Kate.”

“My Little Pony encourages capitalism?”

“The ponies live in a supreme monarchy, Kate. Of course they encourage capitalism.”

“... Babe, why do you know so much about My Little Pony?”

Sophie’s face flushed. “Shut up,” she whispered, giggling. Kate smirked, then after a moment, pointed her chin back to her family. Sophie nodded, continuing her talk to Beth. “... Anyways, Kate might not have always shown it, but she _adored_ you, Beth. She misses you everyday, she’s never taken off that necklace, do you know that? Not once. She doesn’t even take it off in the shower. I don’t think she ever will, and I’m okay with that. I might be her soulmate, but you were her other half. I shouldn’t say _were_ or _was._ You still are. I don’t mind. Kate loves you so much that it makes me love you, too.” She chuckled. “I love you, Beth Kane, and I don’t even know you. By what Kate’s told me, I think that’s exactly what you’d want.”

Kate pressed her cheek on the slope of Sophie’s neck. “You’d be correct.” She moved her arms and wrapped them around Sophie’s stomach. Sophie held Kate’s arms in her own. 

They watched the gravesite for some time. The night only got darker, but white specks sprinkled within the sky. Kate and Sophie were the only sounds among the crickets, laughing and kissing and crying together. 

Eventually, Sophie looked into Kate’s eyes. “Happy birthday,” she purred softly. “I love you.”

Kate could almost taste the air coming off her girlfriend’s words. “... I love you, too, Soph.”

Hours went by, but it felt like it was only a few minutes. Kate never had enough time when it came to Sophie. Before they went back to the car, Kate paused and dug into her pocket. Her grip came back brimmed by separate stones. Gently, she placed the two rocks on the head of the grave. “Bye, Mom,” Kate mumbled. Her lip was quivering. “... I-I love you, Mama.”

“Kate?” Sophie called gently from behind. “We can stay longer, if you like.”

Kate jumped toward Sophie and put her arm around her. “Nah, it’s okay.” With a wrinkle of her nose, she smirked. “Let’s fucking blow this popsicle stand.”

Sophie rolled her eyes affectionately. “Good, because I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance to give you your birthday gift.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kate bit her lip. “Can’t _wait.”_

As Sophie laughed into her hand, Kate looked over her shoulder at Beth’s name, printed onto the pale headstone. There was an unspoken message in her watchful glare. It was received, Kate could feel it in her bones. Somewhere, somehow, her sister knew that Kate would never stop looking for her. 

_I’ll see you soon, Beth._

**10.**

Lena rubbed her temples. The suicidal one must be over 21 by now—she hoped, at least, god knows Lena herself had been drinking since she was sixteen—because currently, the nameless but feminine presence was making her focus wobble. Lena supposed she was only returning the favor all those times Lena had gotten _her_ contact drunk.

“What’s wrong with you?” The man on the chair opposing her couch demanded. 

Lena closed her eyes, grunting. “My soulmate recently discovered mai tais and all I can taste is funnel cake.”

He lowered his chin, a frown on the edges of his beard. “Which soulmate?” He asked. It was simple, but meant to jab.

“Don’t be a dick,” Lena said. “I’m serious. I’m worried about you, Lex.”

Lex grinned that sly way he did. It turned other people’s worry off, like a charming switch was flicked. Lena had grown up with him, so she knew when his stupid smirk was utter bullshit, but she had to play this with style. If she lost her tact, Lex would win the conversation, as he had the tendency to do. Everything was a contest with the Luthors, even, Lena conceded, with herself. That didn’t mean she had to let the full Luthor win out. 

“Don’t be, I’m _fine,”_ Lex told her, in his gentle, just-for-Lena tone. When they were kids, it made the traumatized, lonely little Lena melt. “I promise.” 

Lena may be just 20 now, but she wasn’t little anymore. “I’m not stupid, Lex, don’t treat me like I am! This… _obsession_ with Superman and aliens, it’s not doing you any good. I’m concerned about you. I’m your sister, and…” She took a breath. “... The way you’ve been acting lately, Lex? It’s _scaring_ me.” 

She reached forward and firmly held his hand. _“You’re..._ scaring me.”

Lex stared at their hands. His sigh hitched and his gaze laid unmoving. After a moment, he took his hand above his lap and folded his fingers together. His eyes turned to lovingly _burn_ into Lena’s own. “You know, you really shouldn’t have touched me. The first clue was that, every time I’ve seen you lately, your arms were always covered. The real kicker came when I could feel the scar on my fingernails, Lena. Have you been cutting again?”

It wasn’t a question. It was so rhetorical that Lena recoiled. She turned her head to the window, her mouth agape in a scowl. Her narrowed gaze gave off nothing. It never did, she was practically trained to look in control, even if she wasn’t. Fuck, how she _wasn’t._

Lex smiled thoughtfully. “... Maybe you’re the one who needs help, sis.”

“You’re deflecting!”

“So are you.”

Lena returned his glare. “Was it me? Have I done something to make you act like this? Lex, for christ’s sake, _please_ tell me what’s going on!”

“Don’t be so cynical. What would I gain from allowing myself to slip into madness? As you said,” he stood up, “you’re my sister and you’re scared of me.” He sat down on the other side of her couch. “Do you really think I want that? It was always you and me against the world, Lena, _you and me.”_

There was a soft hand on her back now. “Back then, our world was just our parents.”

“Oh, I know,” Lex laughed sadly. “But _you’re_ the only one that matters, little Lost Princess. You’ve always been.”

Lena turned to look at her brother. “Then what if we’re both crazy, Lex? Huh? Who the fuck matters then?”

His eyebrows knitted at the idea. “Well, that’s why we have each other. We’re smart, we can tell if the other is breaking. You caught me, now I catch you.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere, so we’ll just keep catching each other.” 

Lena burrowed her head under his chin and his arm crept around her back. She stared into the nothingness with wet eyes. This was a moment she and her brother had left behind when Lena promised (she’d _promised_ him, how could she break it?) not to do it anymore. She didn’t want to loathe existence so much that seeing her wrist run red was the only thing that made her feel in control. She wished a million times that it wasn’t that way, starting from every time their father would get drunk and lay waste to the house, and ending— _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ It was supposed to have ended a long time ago. 

“We’ll keep catching each other,”—Lex’s eyes were dry and the soft glint was gone from his eyes the moment Lena wasn’t looking into them—“... until there’s no one to fear.”

On some level, Lena knew he was lying. 

But it felt so nice to _pretend._

**Epi.**

Caitlin’s eyes found the pen. She grabbed it, her fingers cruel against the silicone. Her teeth were chewing on her lip, tearing at the skin again and again. It wouldn’t start to bleed until later. Caitlin was fine with that.

She took the pretty pink pen, memories of her father flashing in her brain, and tried to erase her marks again. She slit her wrists, numbly observing the line of crimson that popped out. The color around it was twinged pale and pink. Both the _“dada”_ and the brown speck laid undisturbed, shining in between the weak amount of blood.

Caitlin still scribbled the skin.

It wasn’t a problem. She knew just how to clean herself off, disinfect any wound; long sleeves weren’t abnormal behavior for her. It was like all her personality traits had accumulated to make her the least suspicious cutter. Destiny, or something. She wasn’t sure if she believed in that.

The emotions were boxed and filed, but not the act. Caitlin never had a problem with focusing on what she was doing; she separated logic from anything else, and logic told her that if she needed this to feel okay, then what the frick was the harm? What else was there to do? She was good at not thinking about it.

She turned in her kitchen. She went to wash the new scar and to coolly observe the way the bright pink color sunk into her skin. That was the routine, that was her normal. She hated that she had let it become average to her, but that’s just the way it was. 

Caitlin stopped dead in her tracks. There was another color. Not red, not pink, not the brown or black she was used to by now. Not even the rainbow-esque symbols from her palm or the yellow-and-red flame from her shoulder.

It was a golden yellow she hadn’t seen in so many years.

_I can tell what you’ve been doing, Caitlin. I’m here if you want to talk. - your SM, Felicity._

Caitlin really did like the way the pen looked as it wrote on her skin better than the feel of it edged into her.

She made sure to only clean off the scar.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think of the writing style? Where do you want this story to go? Once the second chapter is out, I'll release a link with all the soulbonds featured in this. The entire list can't fit the allowed characters in the end notes, so it'll be a google document link
> 
> Edit Jan 22: so I'm in a depressive, executive dysfunction spat. I can barely manage to do the bare minimum of schoolwork right now. It's finals week. Given how the second chapter is supposed to be way longer than this one and considering that I've barely fucking worked on it, chapter two is going to take a while. I'll do the best I can rn, but it's likely the second chapter won't be out this month. I'm sorry. Bare with me though, I'm too fucking stubborn to straight-up abandon this bitch, so the next chap is going to be out eventually, just probably not in the nearest future. I'm trying, y'all.


End file.
